Even Cats Want to Rest

Little cat, little cat, hurry and run.

They all say cats have nine lives.

My name is Amber. I think they might be right.

My first life ended in a warm cardboard box. I was very small then, and all I remember is that the scent of the one called "Mom" disappeared, replaced by the sweet milky smell of a little girl. She called me "Mimi," and her fingers were soft. But later, the box was left somewhere very, very far away, and I could never find that milky scent again.

My second life was with a man who smelled of smoke and wood. He would scratch my chin with his rough palm, and I would purr. His house was big, but always quiet. Then one day, he stopped moving too, and his body grew as cold as the winter floor.

My third life, my fourth life... I can't remember all the faces. I only remember fragments: the sweet smell of cat food, the eyes of a girl that were always red from crying, a little boy who loved dressing me in ridiculous clothes, and a glass window that was always shut, through which I could see the birds outside.

I learned not to ask "why," and not to expect "forever." Human forever is too short for me.

This must be my ninth life now.

In my current home, there's an automatic feeder and a soft cat bed. My owners clean my litter box on schedule, and sometimes they wave a cat teaser in front of me. They're good people.

But I'm so tired.

Not tired in my body. Deep inside, the place that used to purr seems as if it will never purr again.

Sunlight falls on the carpet, as warm as it was on the day of my first life. I walk over and curl up.

The humans are calling me again. Maybe they want to take a picture, or maybe they just want to pet me.

I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep.

This time, I don't want to spend this life loving anyone else.

Cats have nine lives, so I met nine owners.

Now, I only want to rest.

I really, really want to rest for a little while.

Theme: Meow, meow, meow.